If We Ever Try Again
by needcoffeetofunction
Summary: Erik's repeating a name, lovingly, reverently, just like he used to with his, as if the owner of said name is the most important person in his life, someone he can't do without, a clear plea to Charles. Wesley. If you can hear me, Charles. Find him. Please. Find him. He needs you. I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry.


_Charles, I don't have much time. I need your help._

Despite the years since he's last heard it, he still knows that voice all too well. There isn't a day that passes he doesn't torture himself, longing for that deep, rumbling, distinctive accent to be near him, for that beautiful yet tormented mind he wishes to soothe be within reach, yearning to hear him say Charles' name as he used to, equal parts love and exasperation, _so naive Charles,_ before clashing ideologies tore them apart.

He continues to hope to this day, that the sound of Erik's voice, born of years of terribly missing him, would no longer be something entirely he'd concocted inside his head. That one day Erik would come back, _how have you been leibling?_ , for the sole reason of missing Charles just as dearly.

Charles does not delusion himself into thinking Erik would ever change his stance about mutant supremacy, but the fact that he's been silent the past decade or so, no talk of the Brotherhood of Mutants or anything resembling like it in the air, the treacherous flicker of hope doesn't fully abate.

He never imagined Erik would be coming out of his self-imposed exile from God knows where with such urgency, dizzying turmoil and sounding as if his whole world is crumbling down by his ears.

 _Erik! What is happening?_ _  
_

Without warning, a hurricane of emotions slam into him, wrenching a sharp gasp from his throat as he nearly gets knocked off his bloody chair in the comfort of his study. Erik's very sudden, though no less welcome mental call sears through his mind, his heart, to his very core. Charles soon realizes the other man's mind is entirely open to him. Deliberate. Intentional. He wants Charles inside his head. The realization is astonishing, he begins to doubt if he's awake, that this is just some elaborate dream his weary mind had enslaved him with.

But it is unmistakable. It is Erik. Every mind has a distinct impression to it, like a fingerprint if you will, and he knows the feel of this mind, most familiar, intimately woven into him even more so than he does his own. Charles wants to bask in it, to wrap himself within the familiar sense of _ErikErikErikErik_ and never let go. But the exhilaration is forcefully pushed to the side. Abrupt. He feels something rip. Desperation swamps him. Swamps Erik, he instantly catches on, these are his emotions, before pain explodes in his chest. He's been shot or stabbed Charles realizes in horror, quickly followed by Erik's shock, of guilt, staggering sadness, overwhelming regret.

 _Erik! Can you hear me?!_

He doesn't realize he's shouting. Doesn't notice the tears welling up in his eyes or the fact that he's managed to truly knock himself off his chair and is now on the floor, face pressed to the carpet, barely noticing Jean's alarmed telepathic inquiry from the absolute terror and _nonononono_ pressing into him from all sides.

"Oh dear God. Charles!"

"Raven, what's happening to him?"

"Professor, please stop thrashing. You're hurting yourself."

"Jean. What—"

"I heard him call for a name. Someone named Erik, ma'am. It came out of nowhere."

"Oh God. Erik? Jean, get him out of there."

"I can't! I.. I tried to pull him out of it. But he's not listening to me. He threw me out, but I don't think he even noticed I was there."

There are voices, legs in his peripheral vision, Alex, Raven's blue, maybe Ororo's shock of white hair, but these things don't quite register to him. Not really. Not when his sole focus is on Erik, calling out for him, beyond desperate to get into his mind, get an understanding of what is happening, get the face of his bloody attacker. But even though Erik's clearly broadcasting his willingness for Charles to rummage inside his head, Charles can do nothing more than pound against an absolutely infuriating mental wall.

That goddamn block. He can't get through, doesn't know if Erik can hear him at all. Given time he knows he can tear down the wall in his mind, but he can't be too sure what that would do to him mentally. He can't risk brain damage. Erik's unknowing of the block if he'd hoped for Charles' help by telepathically calling out to him, is what Charles quickly deduces. It could have been in him for days, months, even years.

It dawns on Charles too late why he can but only feel him to some capacity in the past decade, merely brushing the fringes of Erik's mind just enough to make certain he is alive. Unassuming. Feather light touches like a shy lover.

That Erik was no longer wearing that godawful helmet, a source of Charles' hope all these years should have given him enough initiative. If he'd only found the courage to speak to him, to try and breach the gap between them, and stop being so bloody terrified of what he'd find inside that head, he would've found this anomaly sooner.

Charles realizes in abject horror that his inaction might just now cost Erik his life.

Erik's struggling to breathe, Charles shudders in realization, scrabbles at his chest, feels a gun digging into his sternum, screams. He chokes alongside him. Blood in his throat. He's dying. Oh God. No!

" Charles, please, you have to let go!"

"Erik! Erik, please! Tell me where you are!" Charles pleads, voice wracked with pain, unhearing of his sister.

He's clutching at his head, nearly rooting the scalp, sobbing openly and completely unaware of the spectacle he's making of himself in front of family, of a few of his students he's treated as if they were his own. There's no room for preserving the image of the infallible Professor X, not while Erik is slowly slipping through his fingers.

Then Erik's repeating a name, lovingly, reverently, just like he used to with his, as if the owner of said name is the most important person in his life, someone he can't do without, a clear plea to Charles.

Wesley.

 _If you can hear me, Charles. Find him. Please. Find him. He needs you. I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry._

He wants to ask what the bloody hell that means, ask him to _please, please, please goddamn you, hold on,_ only to feel the exact moment Erik's heart stops. A wail of a scream tears itself out of Charles' throat as he feels his own heart stopping right along with Erik.

When the darkness comes, Charles freefalls.

TBC

* * *

A/N: Wesley = Cherik Lovechild. Yeah. It had to be done. This is set Post-Days of Future Past and completely ignores XMEN Apocalypse.


End file.
